One of the photographers sat stolidly in the automobile smoking
his cigarette while the others were reaping their harvest.

"Why don't you take these too?" I asked.

"Oh," he replied, "I've been sending in so much of that stuff that I
just got a telegram from my paper saying, 'Pension off that Belgian
regiment which is doing stunts in the trenches.'"

While his little army rested from their maneuvers the Director-in-
Chief turned to me and said:

"Wouldn't you like to have a photograph of yourself in these war-
surroundings, just to take home as a souvenir?"

That appealed to me. After rejecting some commonplace
suggestions, he exclaimed: "I have it. Shot as a German Spy.
There's the wall to stand up against; and we'll pick a crack firing-
squad out of these Belgians. A little bit of all right, eh?"

I acquiesced in the plan and was led over to the wall while a
movie-man whipped out a handkerchief and tied it over my eyes.
The director then took the firing squad in hand. He had but
recently witnessed the execution of a spy where he had almost
burst with a desire to photograph the scene. It had been
excruciating torture to restrain himself. But the experience had
made him feel conversant with the etiquette of shooting a spy, as it
was being done amongst the very best firing-squads. He made it
now stand him in good stead.